


Damn Psycho

by BringMeTheFuentes (zistysfosgerald), fake love (sonya_deville), queen_tommo



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Bandom, Black Veil Brides, Issues (Band), Motionless in White (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Blow Jobs, M/M, Past Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zistysfosgerald/pseuds/BringMeTheFuentes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonya_deville/pseuds/fake%20love, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_tommo/pseuds/queen_tommo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ricky's a goddamn psycho, and yet the only one that seems to notice it is young Andy Biersack.</p><p>beginning<br/>end</p><p>[warning!: this will include graphic violence! death! potential rape!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

Ricky started with the kid across the street.

Ricky was nineteen then, and the kid was three years below. The kid had a sweet smile and holes in the knees of his skinny jeans, he was so pop-punk and so cool, and it drove Ricky up the wall to hear his band of hormonal high schoolers thrashing around in the garage every damned day.

So he invited him over one day, said, "Hey, Caleb, right? I noticed you play bass, wanna check mine out? I'll bring you right back."

He mumbled shyly, because there was a hot, older guy talking to him, why would that happen? "It's, um, Calum. But yeah, okay."

Calum, Calum found no problem with following Ricky across the street. They were neighbors, it was okay. Ricky's mom knew Calum's mom and Calum saw Ricky at the block parties and so on and so forth. He promised the boys in the garage - one of them, the one with a fantastic sandy blond emo fringe, sat on top of the hood of a car to play his drums - that he would be right back.

Calum bit his lip upon entering a new home, despite the living room being an average living room and the vase on the table being shattered. He asked, "What happened there?" and Ricky picked up an accent that he didn't really care to decipher.

"Nothing that matters, Mom got mad at Dad and someone broke a vase, no problem."

"Oh."

Ricky shrugged, led pop-punk Calum upstairs and to his room. He let the kid go in first, let him look around and let him see there was no bass.

"It's only a guitar," he said, pointing at, what else, a guitar.

"Oh, shit. My friend must've took my bass when he came over. Sorry. I was looking forward to showing off to someone who knew a little something about bass playing."

Calum blushed a bit, lapping up whatever the fuck Ricky was saying. He laughed a little, mumbled, "Thanks," and then added, "Maybe when your friend brings it back, then?" like this was something he wanted to happen.

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Ricky let go of his stupid little plan for the moment - Calum had three potential witnesses waiting on him across the street. Ricky could see them from the window. The lanky blond was sitting, strumming once or twice on his guitar while looking up at the sky. Cute kid. Stupid, though. He should've held his friend back.

"C'mon, let's get you back."

Calum went, "Oh, yeah, the lads," and Ricky decided he cared a little and asked where Calum was from. He answered with Australia and Ricky let the personal questions go there because he was not trying to get personal, just alone, and with three kids across the street, that was not going to happen right then.

So Ricky walked him back over to the little band in training, let him take his place on the left of the blond boy with the guitar, and watched for a second before giving Calum a smile and leaving.

He heard the boy squeak to his friends the moment he turned his back. Adorable.

No, Ricky was going to wait until the night.

And that is what he did.

Midnight struck and Ricky was cautiously sneaking into Calum's home, unlocking the door with ease considering all the houses on the block - and by extension, the doors - we're made the same. He slipped his way inside, tiptoed up the stairs, eased his way past the master bedroom and right into Calum's, which was wide open and easily accessible.

Calum was snoring, wrapped up in a deep sleep with half of his face buried in the pillow. Ricky nearly cooed about how adorable it all was before deciding that the time was now and he didn't give a shit how adorable this kid was right then. He hooked his arms underneath the younger boy, finding him long and awkward, but surprisingly light.

Holding Calum against him, the kid woke up the slightest bit when Ricky started the stairs. He murmured, "Wha'?" and could barely keep those pretty brown eyes of his open.

Ricky didn't say a word and Calum, figuring he was in a dream, fell back out. He remained quiet and snoring all the way back to Ricky's home, Ricky both opening and closing Calum's home's door with his sleeve instead of his hand. No traces.

It was a breeze, getting Calum down to the basement. He expected it to be, well, at least a bit of a challenge. But no, Calum was fast asleep, even nuzzling his face in Ricky's chest a bit, thinking he was still in his bed.

That thought came to a crashing halt when Ricky dropped him on the cold basement floor.

Calum awoke with a start, looking around in a panic when he realized he was not at home. He started to get to his feet and Ricky knocked him down, kept him down with a sharp, swift kick to the stomach.

"Listen, sweetie," Ricky began, sympathy flooding his voice. Calum tried to scramble away, but Ricky had a hand around his throat then and he was stationary. "I know you're scared, but this'll just be a minute. See, I need something new to do, I'm pretty bored with all the yelling and screaming my parents do, the homework, the guitar. And I heard this was pretty fun."

Calum whimpered, "Wh-What is it?"

Then his eyes found the blade near Ricky's foot just as Ricky reached for it and he cried out, attempted to run, but his neck was released and his mouth was covered. With the intense grip and pressure on his face and his screams muffled, he could only lie there and screech into Ricky's palm, which did not help at all.

The knife - Ricky took it from the kitchen, hardly remembered what kind it was - was held over Calum's heart, hovering dangerously close. Calum was ready to burst into tears, but he was pretty proud that so far, all he had done was tremble and scream.

"Killing," Ricky said simply, stabbing the blade deep into Calum's stomach instead of his chest. He howled against Ricky's hand, his back arching as he reacted to the pain and tried once more to break away. When it didn't work, of course it didn't, he pressed his hands to the wound on his belly, tried to stop the blood from flowing so much, and stared up at the elder in horror. There was no emotion in Ricky's ice blue eyes, absolutely none. It was nearly horrific, made him sick.

Ricky struck again, this time in Calum's thigh, and god-fucking-dammit did it hurt. He screwed his eyes shut, the tears finally making their debut as they rolled down his cheeks. It hurt so much, and Calum could hardly understand what he had done to deserve this.

"What did I do?" he asked, voice shaking. However, Ricky's hand on his mouth messed up whatever he had to say, and the older boy had to remove it to hear.

"What'd you say?"

"I said what did I do?"

The tears started up again, fat and hot as they streamed down his caramel cheeks. Poor thing; Ricky felt a bit bad, taking this innocent kid and putting him through such pain. All he wanted to do was play music with "the lads," he called them, and Ricky was completely taking away that chance. Pop-punk Calum was to be no more, though, with this much damage already inflicted.

"Nothing, Calum. This is nothing personal. It's just something I've got to do."

"Wh-y!"

His question was cut off by a slice to the face. The blade cut through the skin of Calum's cheek like butter, and it stung, especially as tears continued to make their way into the new wound.

Ricky shook his head when Calum whispered, "Just kill me, please. Please just kill me," his body quivering ridiculously.

"I'm actually having a bit of fun," Ricky practically sang, his face so close to Calum's that the stray strands of jet black hair poked at the younger boy's burning face. "I don't wanna let you go yet."

"Why me?"

"Because, hon. Nothing personal. You're a sad case of 'easy access,' if you will."

Calum continued to cry, that time without a sound. He kept the sobs in his throat as Ricky poked around at Calum's chest and biceps with the blade. Small puncture wounds pop up across Calum's skin, the knife pausing over his racing heart again and again but never plunging into it. Every time it was held above that vital little piece of blood-pumping joy, Calum would hold his breath and wince, only to relax just barely when it poked at his arm instead.

It was, quite honestly, the worst thing Calum had ever experienced.

To Ricky, it was intriguing. He found it interesting, how Calum's face morphed every time he thought he was for sure about to be killed. The fear intensified, the terror in those wide eyes. They were brown, like dirt, Ricky noted.

Then it got boring and he dropped the knife through Calum's rapidly-beating heart and the kid screeched, the loudest noise he had made since being stolen from his bed.

Ricky was inexperienced, Ricky was unsure of what to do, and Ricky nudged Calum's still body into a corner, snatching his father's old trench coat from the wall. He draped it over poor pop-punk Calum, used the sink and rags in the laundry room to clean up the blood and the blade.

He kept the blade with him as he went up to bed, not many emotions or even thoughts running through him. Perhaps he would think a bit more about what he had done after the night came and went, perhaps he would not. At the moment, he was not very concerned, and collapsed into his bed with ease. The blade sat under his pillow.

Ricky's parents came home at different times. His mom, drunk, came home at two. His father, high, came home at three. Neither of them had any idea that that night, their son became a murderer.

He wondered if they would give a fuck if they did.


	2. TWO

Calum's mother had a funny feeling that night. The night that she last seen her son for the rest of her life. Calum went to bed, thinking he'd be alive for the next day... but he was wrong.

"Calum! Time for breakfast!" Calum's mom called from the bottom of the stairs, thinking that he would run down the stairs like he normally did when she called him for breakfast. But he didn't come down. Calum's mother was worried because this wasn't like him at all.

That's when it hit her.

The door was unlocked last night.

She instantly grabbed her cell phone and ran up the stairs to check on him, but as soon as she reached his room... he was gone. She almost fainted but collected herself so she could call his friends, starting with Luke.

As she called him, it rang once before Luke answered.

"Hey, I'm sorry I woke you up, but have you seen Calum at all this morning?" she asked, hoping that his answer will be 'yes' but it wasn't.

"No I haven't, I'm sorry. Have you tried Ashton or Michael? Maybe Louis or Harry?" Luke suggested and Calum's mother held back her tears before saying, 'Thank you for the suggestions, if you hear from him please let me know'.

She then dialed Ashton's number, hoping that he'd seen Calum.

He answered on the third ring, and she could tell he was freaking out too. That answered her question, but she still had to ask. She had to find Calum, he was her only son and that made her feel even worse.

"Hello Mrs. Hood! Have you seen Calum? He said he was going to come over at nine this morning and it's ten thirty... it's unlike him to not show up, and I'm worried about him." when Ashton said that, it made her want to throw up but she had to keep asking around before she called the police.

Ashton was out of the question, and so was Luke. That left Harry, Louis, and Michael but she just didn't want to wait for the same answer three times. So she went straight to calling nine-one-one.

"Hello? This is nine-one-one, do you need police, an ambulance, or firefighters?"

"P-Police!"

"What is your emergency?"

"M-My son Calum, isn't in his room... the front door was unlocked this morning and I know I locked it last night! Please! My son wouldn't run away, he's a good kid!" Calum's mom couldn't help but cry. She was so worried about him and she didn't want to think of the possibilities.

"Okay, ma'am? Breathe. We're sending someone out now. Breathe and stay put."

She couldn't wait because every moment they wait, could be the last minutes of Calum's life. It seemed to be hours before the police car pulled up, even though it was only ten minutes. Ten minutes too late.

"Hello? Did someone call nine-one-one?" an officer asked as he knocked on the screen door. Calum's mom ran to the door and opened it.

"Yes, I did. Come in." she said, in tears as two police officers walked into the living room.

"May we sit?" the blonde haired officer asked, but the brunette officer smacked him.

"You'll have to excuse him, he's new." Calum's mother nodded before the questions began.

"How old is Calum?"

"Seventeen."

"Has he ever ran away from home before?"

"No, he hasn't."

"Is he gay?"

"What has that have to do with him missing?"

"Because, your son might be a target to hate crime... we need as much information as possible."

"He's gay,"

"Okay, does he have a boyfriend?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Has he ever had sex?"

"I don't know!"

"Do you know if he's a top or a bottom?"

"That's really none of your business, Tyler!" the brunette cop said as he scolded the blonde who's name is apparently Tyler.

"Let me ask the questions, damn." the brunette said as he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, when was the last time you saw Calum, ma'am?"

"Last night, he gave me a hug and told me- he loved me..."

"What was he wearing?"

"His plaid pajama pants, and a white tank top."

"Okay, may we have a picture of Calum? So we can go door to door?" the blonde asked and Calum's mother nodded as she stood up to go grab a recent picture of Calum.

"Here you go, please... please bring him back to me!" Calum's mother begged as both cops stood up to leave.

"We'll try our best, ma'am." the brunette said with a comforting smile before they left.

Maybe they will find Cal? Calum's mother said to assure herself.

|·|·|·|

Ricky wasn't aware that his father entered his room. He was sound asleep until he felt a weight shift the bed and he knew exactly who it was. He didn't want to see what his father was going to do to him again.

"Open your eyes boy! I know you're not asleep!" Ricky's father whisper yelled so his mother wouldn't wake up.

Ricky didn't want this to happen, he didn't want his father to violate him again. That's when he remembered that he slept with the knife he used to kill pop-punk Calum.

"Be quiet when I do this, you know you wouldn't want to wake up your mother..." his father whispered before nibbling on Ricky's ear lobe.

His father was an attractive young man who prayed on children and young adults. He loved doing it and his mother never suspected a thing. Mostly because she didn't really pay attention to Ricky. All she cared about were drugs that she used to get high.

"You know dad, I'm getting real tired of your shit." Ricky said, knowing that once he does this, there's no going back.

As his father trails his hand down his body, into his pants, Ricky takes his knife and slices his father's eyes out of the socket. Earning a blood curdling scream from him, but before anyone can hear it, Ricky shoves a sock in his mouth that was on the bed.

"That's for making me have a fucked up childhood!" Ricky says before cutting his father's neck open with ease. it's like he's been training all his life to do that.

Once he knows his father is dead, he drags him downstairs and into the basement without disrupting his mother's nap. She's too passed out to notice the loud banging of a dead body.

"Stupid fuck, that's the last time you're going to molest someone." Ricky said as he shuts the door to the basement.

"One idiot down. One more to go." Ricky makes a mental note as he runs upstairs to grab the knife.

Sorry mom, he whispered before slamming the knife into her head. He's been wanting to do that for a long time. Unfortunately he had a small tiny heart before he killed his mother. He did love her, even though she was just as fucked as his father.

He wanted to take a shower to clean up the blood off of him, but first he had to get his mother out of the living room. So as he did that, he broke down and began to cry.

He wasn't the most stable and he needed help, but this was his new addiction. He had to kill and torture someone until he became bored. Yeah, that's what he's going to do. Find someone to torture until they die or until he gets bored with them.

Once he got into the shower, he felt happier than before and he knew this was what he wanted to do. First it was pop-punk Calum, then his disgusting father, and then finally his filthy mother. He wanted to add the list, maybe a cop? Or a priest that was so corrupt that he didn't know his own name.

As he got out and dressed, he heard the door bell ring, so he ran to go answer it.

"Hello, we're officer Carter and officer Bohn, may we come in?" they asked and Ricky froze up.

Do they know about pop-punk Calum? Did someone hear my father's scream? Ricky asked himself as he freaked out on the inside. But on the outside he was calm and acted innocent.

"Yes, of course. Of course. May I get you guys something to drink?" Ricky offered with a friendly smile on his face.

"That would be nice! Could I have a pop? It doesn't matter what it I, as long as it's not diet." Officer Carter smiled and Ricky smiled back.

"Same with me," Officer Bohn said with a smile. That's when Ricky got a wonderful idea. He'll put his mother's sleeping pills in their drinks! This is going to work! Ricky smiled to himself as he went to go get their drinks.

As he put the powder into their glasses, Officer Carter was telling anti jokes to Officer Bohn. When Ricky handed them their drinks, the brunette officer chugged down his drink with ease, and the blonde wanted to tell a joke before he drank his.

"Okay, tell your joke," Ricky smiled, trying to act like he really wanted to hear it. Even though he could care less.

"I wish my grass was emo, so it could cut itself." Officer Carter started cracking up while Officer Bohn looked at Ricky with wide eyes. Ricky was beyond pissed, and he needed to get them to go to sleep.

Luckily five minutes later, Officer annoying dropped on the ground, and so did Bohn.

Ricky grabbed their guns, and put them on the couch as he dragged them down to his "Torture Chamber" one at a time. He was going to have fun with them. Especially Officer Annoying, since he wouldn't shut the fuck up with his jokes.

"Wake up!" Ricky yelled as he turned on the lights. Officer Bohn was the first one up and when he looked to his left, he saw that poor Calum boy, along with Ricky's parents.

"Let us go!" Michael yelled as he pulled on the restraints. He wanted out of this horrid house as soon as possible.

"Don't yell at me!" Ricky shouted as he kicked Bohn in the face as Officer Annoying started to wake up from all the yelling.

"What the fu-fuck!?" Carter said as he pulled on the restraints.

"Shut up Annoyance." Ricky demanded as he walked away from the two officers. He knew they weren't going to get away, he made sure of it.

"Now, because Officer Bohn is being a big fat jerk towards me, he doesn't get to play!" Ricky informed the two as he pulled out one of their guns.

"Don't do this! Please... I have a wife and three kids, please!" this made Ricky angry. He reminded him of his pedophile father that he hated with every inch of his life.

"You're just like my father... a fucking freak." Ricky said calmly as he raised the gun and pointed to his head.

"Say hello to pop-punk Calum for me!" Ricky giggled as he pulled the trigger, shooting Bohn in the forehead. There was no doubt that he wasn't dead. Ricky knew that he was dead, and then he drew his attention to Officer Annoying.

"So, Carter, you wanna tell me that joke again?" Ricky asked, and Carter shook his head no.

"I meant to say, you're going to tell me that joke again." Ricky said seriously and Carter started crying.

"Aww, it's either: tell me that joke again... or die!" Ricky said and Carter couldn't say a word with crying harder.

"I said, tell me the fucking joke!" Ricky yelled as he kicked Carter in the mouth. Causing him to scream out in pain.

"I-I w-wish m-my grass wa-was emo... s-s-so it wou-ld cut itself..." Officer Annoying cried before Ricky kicked him in the mouth again. Causing him to cry.

"That was so fucking funny!" Ricky said sarcastically as he went to grab his lucky "toy" that he used when he was little. His lucky toy was his baseball bat. Ricky used to play baseball for a team when he was five and kept the bat for memories.

"Please, don't hurt me anymore!" Carter begged as Ricky went to swing like he was playing baseball. Ricky didn't listen, and he swung the bat. He purposely hit Carter in the left leg and broke it. Causing him to scream bloody murder, and that caused Ricky to laugh.

"Nah, I don't think I will!" Ricky laughed as he swung the bat again, breaking his right leg.

"Help! Someone help!" Carter screamed but Ricky stopped him by pulling his pants down.

"My name is Tyler... I have a boyfriend.... and a kid, please... please let me live!" the officer begged and Ricky laughed.

"If I let you live, you're going to arrest me. I'm not an idiot!" Ricky said as he grabbed the knife from the ground. He was getting bored of Officer Annoying, and so he had to go.

"Sorry Tyler," Ricky actually means it before stabbing Tyler in the throat. Causing him to choke for a last breath before dying.

"Look at this mess I've got to-" Ricky was saying to himself until he heard a knock on the door.

Now, who could that be! Ricky laughed as he cleaned the little blood off of him.

This was going to be so much fun for Ricky.


	3. THREE

Ricky had killed a grand total of five people.

Things were either getting out of hand or they were getting more fun than ever before. He was too far gone to really see.

The next pair of victims were just as innocent as the ones before them (excluding Ricky's drugged up, fucked up parents), smiles on their faces and love in their hearts. They were friends of Calum, that sweet young boy, and they were simply asking around to see where dear Calum had been. Ashton, Luke, and Michael, Calum's dearest friends, had no idea where he disappeared to, his mother couldn't talk without crying, and then the pair of future victims decided it was time to take matters into their own hands.

"Lou, this is a bad idea," mumbled one of them, his name was Harry, he hardly knew Ricky at all. He laced his fingers with his boyfriend's and shook his head, bit down on his lip. "Remember what Ash said? The police that were on Calum's case vanished. What if that ends up being us?"

"It'll be okay, love," assured the other, his name was Louis, he knew Ricky solely by word of mouth. He was a happy go lucky student in college, a Psychology major, and he saw no wrong with just asking people in the neighborhood if they had seen their young friend. "We're not police. We've no guns or cuffs, we're just trying to find Cal. I'm sure we'll be fine. And hey, you don't play footie for years and not know how to run," he added with a wink.

Harry held tighter to his boyfriend's hand, nodding. "Okay."

And yet, with all of Louis' confidence, he still paused at the sight of the house of Ricky Olson. All the rumors and awful things he heard about Ricky in just the past few days began running around in his head, and adding in the ones from school a few years ago, he didn't think stopping at Ricky's place to ask about Calum was too good of an idea. He voiced the concern to Harry and the younger of the two pouted almost playfully.

"C'mon, Lou, you can't tell me it'll be fine and then freak out on a house. I'm sure this Ricky lad is just misunderstood or somethin'. He's pro'lly really nice."

"Why d'ya think he's nice? Ya haven't even met him."

"Neither have you. And I just don't think you should judge someone before you meet them, Lou, because if I did that before I met you," he stopped them from walking to poke his smaller boyfriend in the chest, "I certainly would have never gone for the loud, troublemaking dickhead."

Louis rolled his eyes and smirked, memories of his secondary school days all but flooding his mind. Unfortunately, thoughts of school caused thoughts of that paper he needed to finish that night, so he toughened up a bit and talked as he walked with a sweet and smiling Harry at his side.

"You give everyone the benefit of the doubt, Haz," he says softly, his smirk now a smile too fond. "One day, you're gonna be nice to the wrong person. Then you're gonna wake up hung up in a basement by your wrists here. And that's gonna be very bad."

"You're a lovely boyfriend," Harry deadpans.

And then, ironically, they are standing on the porch of the murderer's house.

Louis raps on the door three good times, Harry's head low as he traces the tattoo circling Louis' wrist with his thumb.

They are met with the face of a calm and collected Ricky Olson, his blue eyes steely and blank. Harry recoiled lightly, hanging on closer to Louis, who stood straighter and nodded just barely.

"Hello," he said with a soft smile. "I was just wonderin', ah, since you live near him and all, have you seen Calum Hood lately? He's a friend of Harry and I, and we're just a bit worried about him, is all."

Ricky hummed, a million different awful things running through his mind. He stepped back a bit, said, "I think I have. Step in for a minute, I can tell you something I don't think is," he paused to look left and right in falsified fear, "really safe to say outside."

Louis, the fucking Psychology major, saw something he shouldn't've seen in that glance of Ricky's. It suddenly sparked with malicious intent and Louis was quick to back off of the porch, pulling his love with him.

"Well, see, I gotta get home and get to writin' this paper, yeah? And Harry, um, he's not feeling too well, so we've gotta get goin', right, Harry?"

Before his curly-headed lover could nod, Ricky yanked them both through the door. He couldn't let them go. It was far too clear that they were onto him. They were probably officers in disguise, he felt it deep in his dark little heart that they knew something. They had to. He kicked it closed and threw them both to the floor, rolling his eyes when he heard a whimper.

"Shut the fuck up, your excuses were pathetic."

"I really do have a paper, though," he heard one of them, it was Louis, whisper. He scoffed, because he could give less of a fuck about some British kid's assignments. He could be a paper away from creating world peace, but all Ricky wants is to see him beg for mercy.

Wow. To think the month before, all Ricky wanted to see was his favorite band in concert. My, how times change.

He snatched the two lovers up by their collars, pulled them down the stairwell to the basement. It smelled like blood and Febreeze, because Ricky sorta thought one would cover up the other.

It was hard, trying to squeeze three people through the doorway of the basement, though it would have been fine if his two newest victims had stopped struggling as much as they were. The skinnier one, he didn't know them by name, kicked and scratched, and the taller one writhed and wiggled. It was incredibly irksome, and by the time Ricky had gotten them to the basement floor he was ready to rip their throats out and call it a day.

He didn't, though. There would be no fun that way.

The skinnier one, that's all Ricky knew him as, he pulled out his phone when he thought Ricky's back was turned for good. He had dialed the first two numbers of 911 when Ricky got a hold of the phone, and he could only wince when Ricky threw it hard enough at the wall for it to shatter. The taller one immediately went to cuddle up to his boyfriend, how fucking cute, and bury his face in the smaller one's chest. He could hear the sad, "I wanna go home, Louis," and okay, the small one was Louis. Like Ricky would remember that dumbass name.

"We'll be okay, Hazza," Louis mumbled, but the way his voice shook, it was obvious he didn't believe it himself. He looked up at Ricky in horror with glassy blue eyes and rubbed his boyfriend's back, scooting away slightly as Ricky advanced. He saw the bat before Ricky went for it and let go of his curly-haired boyfriend, reaching for it and actually grabbing it before Ricky could stop him.

"Move, Harry!" he spit and that Harry boy moved and Louis hit the back of Ricky's legs three good times, hit him over the spine when Ricky fell and dropped the weapon because they were safe. The couple was so sure they were home free when Ricky didn't immediately push back up. They dashed towards the stairs and they were so close they could taste freedom and Ricky grabbed Harry's ankle and snatched him to the ground just as he touched the first step. Louis whipped around, really had no choice when his helpless boyfriend grabbed for his hand.

Ricky was quick, Ricky was angry, Ricky was strong, and he was able to pin poor Curly in seconds. Louis stood there, frozen as could be, knowing he had to save his boyfriend. Cute.

"Let him go," he said, so shaky. "Let him go. Please."

Harry whimpered when Ricky held the bat against his throat, scared to even try and push it away.

Ricky muttered, "Fucking make me."

And Louis couldn't take it.

One thing about Louis was that he was far more active than any of Ricky's previous victims. He lunged for the deranged young man, knocked him on his back and away from his boyfriend. Harry scrambled back, hands on his throat as he watched Louis tumble with the bastard, unsure of what to say or do.

Ricky thought he was quite pathetic. Louis was a challenge but Harry, Harry was weak.

Louis got in a few punches, arms tired but legs strong. Ricky was able to take them with relative ease, the only ones really affecting him being the ones too close to the eyes. He punched back, of course, nailing Louis in his crystal blue eye and his mouth and eventually the pain became too much when one punch to his chest made his pounding heart stutter and Louis lost the fight. He was pushed away, skidded back to Harry, who was seconds away from bursting into tears.

Louis, with his swelling eye and split lip, held onto his heart and soul and cooing, "Hey, don't cry, love, we're gonna be okay," and Ricky found it sickening.

Pop-punk Calum was naive, his parents were nothing, the officers were invasive, but the two before him were disgusting, constantly cuddling up and trying to "protect" each other.

They were in the presence of a killer. There was no "protecting" each other.

Ricky hissed, "You're not gonna be okay, why don't you stop lying to him? You don't lie to the ones you love, right?" and the inexplicable anger rattled his chest and his head.

Louis let go of his boyfriend then, stood and Harry whined, "Lou, stop," but Lou didn't fucking listen and he snapped, "You're not gonna hurt him!" and Ricky just snatched up the bat and whacked Louis across his pretty little face and then Louis had a large red welt on that face and a good spell of unconsciousness. He fell to the hard floor with a thud and his hand was immediately grabbed by a shaky, horrified Harry.

"Are you gonna kill us?" he asked, a sob stuck in his throat. His boyfriend was out cold and he didn't know what to do, he had many reasons to cry. Ricky sighed and shook his head.

"Probably, sweetie."

Because weak or not, Ricky didn't want to lie to his next little sweetheart victim.

"Why?"

"Well, because." Ricky traded his bat for a blade. "I'm bored, Harry."

What was the point in lying, anyway? Who were the dead going to tell?

|•|•|•|

Ricky was honestly quite proud of how fast he could move.

He had Harry chained to the door of the basement bathroom, his wrists cuffed tightly and his arms above his head. Louis, slumped and slack, was tied to a steel table full of different tools his father used when he decided to try and fix shit, and he was tied with a link chain that his sick father used when he was working on his car or some other similar bullshit. It was wrapped tight around his midsection and his wrists and it was sloppy, but Ricky wasn't trying to be nice and neat. It took about fifteen minutes, what with Harry pathetically trying to follow his boyfriend's example and resist. It didn't last long. Despite being bigger, he was not as agile or as strong. He was heavy-handed, Ricky would give him that, but a punch in his jaw did not stop him from rendering the victim's hands useless seconds later.

Louis had begun to come to a bit after the two were bound up.

He mumbled something, probably about his fucking boyfriend, and Ricky chirped, "Morning, sunshine." Louis, groggy and disoriented, didn't get the joke. Like Ricky cared. He was not a damned comedian.

"Did you kill Calum?" Harry asked, his jade eyes rimmed red. Louis' head was still lolling around. "Did you kill those officers? Was it you, then?"

He shrugged, poked his fingertip with the point of the blade. "Yeah."

"Why? What did Calum do to you?" His voice was rising in both pitch and volume. He was upset. Good for him. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," Ricky huffed, watching Louis slowly come to realize he was chained up. "Like I told him, he was a bad case of 'easy access.' He lived across the fucking street. And you two just walked to my fucking door. It's not my fault you're basically presenting yourself to me, is it?"

"We were just walking, we just wanted to know if you'd seen Calum!" Harry argued, and Ricky was far from in the mood for arguing. He rolled his eyes and turned on the young man, held the blade against his cheek and making a small cut.

"Do you wanna see Calum? Do you really wanna see Calum?" he growled and Harry shook his head, pretty brown curls bouncing as the tip of the blade scratched his skin. Harry was quick, did the math in his head; if Calum has been dead for the amount of days he'd been missing, he was certainly not a pretty sight. And besides, Ricky may have meant "seeing Calum" as in "let me kill you so you can see him in the afterlife" and Harry was unsure which one he intended to get across.

Ricky wasn't very sure either.

Then Louis began to panic a bit, went, "What the fuck am I-what did you-what did you do?" since he was completely awake again. He struggled against his chain and was held in place and he pulled at the chains, pulled and pulled and pulled and Harry was quiet because it seemed like he had finally learned his lesson. Ricky wasn't sure if Louis continuously tugging at his restraints would eventually free him, so he decided to end it before he could find out.

He backed away some, clapped for the boys' attention with a dark grin. He kicked off his father's old coat from his original victim, scuffed away the cover over everyone else, and clicked the light on as he stepped into pools of dried blood.

"Presenting your fellow victims."

Ricky stepped away from them all, presented them with a flourish, and his newest victims immediately jumped back in horror. Their reactions were amazing to witness, almost like watching television.

Harry's face flushed a sick sort of pale, almost as if he was drained of all life, similar to the corpses by Ricky's foot. His eyes, red-rimmed jade, were wide and frozen on the pile of death and he looked ill at the sight, yet he couldn't turn away. Louis, on the other hand, immediately began retching, his crystal eyes screwing shut. Nothing came up, but even with the distance they had between each other, Ricky could see how sick Louis was at the mere thought of it all.

Ricky made long, pleasant strides back to the couple with a happy smile on his face just as they made pitiful eye contact with each other. He leant down to Louis' ear and smirked and whispered, "That's gonna be your Hazza soon."

He expected a sudden jump or jerk from the beaten Brit, an angry snarl or a snap. But no. Louis just shook his head and whispered, "It won't be, it won't be." And he looked at Harry with this gaze filled with sadness and useless promises and he said, so strained, "That won't be you, Haz, I swear to you."

And Ricky growled, "You're fucking lying to him! He will be nothing more but another addition to that pile over there, and so will you, do you not believe me?" with the blade pointed at Harry's face.

Harry tried his best to look over that, to look over at his boyfriend, and he choked, "I love you, Lou," with tears spilling over and soaking his long lashes and soft cheeks and oh fuck okay, Ricky did not have any tolerance for romance at the moment, not when he could never seem to grasp it, not when he was bored.

"I've go. . .got you, Harry, I-I promise."

And Ricky had had enough.

He was in control, not that little shit, who was he to promise they would be okay? He was no one. He was nothing. Ricky had the power now, Ricky controlled it all. He controlled whether or not they would be okay, and he decided that they wouldn't be, they would never be.

He was quick; Harry probably didn't even feel anything.

He slit the young man's throat, right in front of his boyfriend's terrified, unsuspecting eyes.

Blood came fast, spurting out of the deep slit and painting the floor. But no, Ricky didn't want it on the floor. He had use for that boy's blood.

He fished the key for the cuffs out of his tight denim pocket, unlocked a dead Harry and tossed him over to Louis, who was still chained and forced to deal with his lover's blood spilling all over him. It stained his skin better than any tattoo could, stained his clothes, hit his face, but it wasn't enough. So Ricky all but tore him up with the blade, tried to squeeze blood out of every little inch he could. And Louis didn't even scream. He just sat there, practically drowning in his sweetheart's life, staring into his dear's open, empty eyes and trying to form words that wouldn't come.

Ricky had finally witnessed trauma.

And God.

It was amazing.

The skinny little fuck just kept blinking back tears and they fell anyway and he kept whispering, "Harry, Harry, I'm sorry," because he knew his big mouth was what killed his lover. Not Ricky. Ricky was just the gun, Louis was the one who pulled the trigger.

Right?

He didn't know, didn't necessarily care.

"I think he found Calum, what do you think?" he asked, walking in circles before picking up his handcuffs. For another day, he decided, as he dropped them on the table Louis was chained to.

"I love him, y'know," Louis mumbled, sounding incredibly distant. Ricky had never witnessed trauma take place, shock or anything similar. All of those victims of his, he killed them instantly, no time for any reactions like what Louis was displaying. It was so intriguing. "He puts up with a lot."

He was rambling, then. Ricky wondered if all traumatized people did things like that. So he sat down on his bloodied floor and observed the little Psychology major try and swim his way through the hell.

"Harry, I was gonna. . .I dunno, maybe we could've. . .married, we could've done that."

Tears were streaming down his face and they didn't seem to be affecting him at all. They were just another thing, something similar to the wind or the silence. They were just there. Ricky found it all quite fascinating.

"Why'd you kill him?" he asked Ricky then, blank blue eyes on him. "I love Harry, why'd you take him away from me?" Love. What an interesting thing. Ricky didn't know if he ever wanted to try it; it seemed quite annoying.

"Because," Ricky sighed, tired of explaining himself. He didn't need to explain the fact that it was all intriguing to him. It was something to keep him busy. He stood up and continued his repetitive little speech. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jesus Christ. There was no conspiracy against you, I don't fucking know you, I don't care."

"What if it was someone else? There a lot of blokes over there, do you kill girls?"

And as lost as he sounds, Ricky still hears the fear.

"I killed my mom."

"Why?"

"Because I fucking could."

It was punctuated with a harsh slap across Louis' face and he gasped, but didn't cry out. He just let his head snap to the right and bit his tongue. He was a little smarter after watching his boyfriend die, Ricky figured. The slap caused Louis' body to shift and dead Harry to slump to the ground. Louis let out a pathetic little whimper at that.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?"

So many fucking questions.

Ricky took his blade and made a long, burning slit in Louis' bicep and Louis only hissed and cringed. He didn't scream like he probably would done had it been earlier in the game. Now he was changed. He was alone.

"Because I like your reactions. I haven't seen anyone react like you. You're gonna be like my experiment, my toy, okay?"

Louis hung his head, eyes on his deceased partner. Ricky was tired of being down in the basement; it was cold and he didn't quite appreciate it. Ricky took the cuffs off of the table, closed them around Louis' thin, shaking wrists and knotted some of the chain as best he could around the link of the cuffs, twisting the chain around the heavy leg of the table. Louis was not going anywhere.

Judging by his state, Ricky didn't think he was going to try, anyway.

He said, "Go ahead and cry, buddy, no one can hear you outside," and went upstairs. He dropped the knife in the sink, decided to wash it later. He could hear sobs float up from the basement stairs, heard them get caught at the door. He hoped his little reaction puppet or whatever the fuck he was would hush up soon. He wanted to take a nap, and he couldn't do that with sobbing.

Six victims and a toy. Ricky wasn't proud, not really, but he wasn't ashamed and he wasn't satisfied, either. He was just there.

And there, he thought, he shall stay.


	4. FOUR

Ricky decided he needed some supplies for his new toy, but he did have much besides knives. No, that wasn't good enough for him. He needed lots and lots of duct tape and hunting knives of all sorts. Ricky wanted this to be perfect, because he wanted to treat his guest with respect. That's how his disgusting father taught him; so he must have learned from the best!

"I'm going out to collect some things for you, while I'm gone, I want you to behave or else!" Ricky said and Louis gulped. He didn't want to find out what "or else" meant so he knew he was going to have to listen and behave. Hell, Ricky might even have Louis do something awful. He didn't want to suffer any longer; especially since he was covered in Harry's blood. Ricky thought Louis was beautiful with the blood all over him, and that caused him to shut the fuck up.

"Please... I-I need to use... I need to use the toilet!" Louis begged because he had pee. He was so close to pissing himself it wasn't even funny.

"Bitch, does this look like a hotel? Pee on your goddamn self!" Ricky yelled as he picked off Harry's shoe. He had evil things running through his head as he started hitting Louis' stomach with it as hard as he could.

"Please... please stop!" Louis begged as began to piss himself. He didn't want to live anymore because of the humiliation he was going through.

"Let this be a lesson to never fucking beg again bitch!" Ricky laughed as he grabbed his keys and ran up the basement steps. He was excited for today because he was meeting up with a long time friend, Andy. Andy was a who're - especially when he got is filthy hands on Ricky's boyfriend Vinny - and it was time for Ricky to get some revenge. He loved Vinny, but then Andy had to swoop in and take him. He wasn't going to get away with that, no sir. He was going to get what he deserved and the only way to do that is torture him worse than the rest - even more than the cute British boy - and then Andy will learn his lesson.

|·|·|·|

Once Ricky got to the bar, he saw that Andy was outside smoking and Ricky hated that. He thought smoking was bad for the earth, and that Andy should be punished even more. Hit him where it hurts, his car.

As soon as Ricky saw that Andy walked back inside, he took his shed key and started to key his car. Ricky thought it was fun, but he needed to stop before he got caught. If he got caught, he'd be in deep shit and Ricky didn't want that at all.

As he casually walked up to the bar, he got a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, but ignored it. He always got a funny feeling whenever he walked outside and he thanks his father for that. His father would tell him inappropriate stories about how teenagers would touch you like "daddy does" if he went outside ever without permission. So for him to go outside without permission freaked him out.

Once he got into the building, Andy was standing there waiting for him. He was glad that it wasn't hard for him to find Andy. Ricky didn't want to deal with finding Andy in a huge crowd.

"Hey, Andy!" Ricky yelled over the crowd so Andy could hear him. Andy turned around and Ricky could tell Andy was drunk. So he just was going to cut to the good part - getting Andy into his car and taking him to his house - and Ricky was going to make sure it was going to work.

"H-hey Ricky!" Andy slurred as Ricky walked over to him.

"How about we go back to my house and hang out like good old times?" Ricky smiled and Andy nodded. He was drunk as fuck, and Ricky knew he was going to have to wait until he was completely sober. Only to get more of a reaction out of him.

|·|·|·|

Little did he know that authority were already tipped off that Ricky's house was where Officers Bohn and Carter disappeared. Also; Calum's mother saw Harry and Louis getting pulled into Ricky's house.

"That's Ricky, Detective Fuentes! That's the guy who lives in the house where Carter and Bohn never came out of!" Officer Quinn said as he turned to face Detective Fuentes.

"You're right! We've got to get to him before that drunk guy gets killed!" Detective Fuentes said as Ricky dragged Andy out of the building.

"Let's go, but Quinn, don't make us too obvious!" Detective Fuentes reminded Officer Quinn before they casually held hands as they walked out of the club. They had to look natural or their covers would be blown. Hopefully it wouldn't be too hard to stay undercover.

It was pouring rain, and so Quinn and Fuentes ran to the car, like any normal person would. As soon as they saw Ricky leave the drive way, they started to follow them.

"We've got to act quick, and Quinn, come up with an excuse to why we're knocking on the door!" Fuentes ordered and Quinn rolled his eyes. He hated to take orders from Detective Fuentes, but since this was a serious thing he didn't feel like bitching.

"Maybe we can say our car broke down?" Quinn suggested, and Detective Fuentes smiled at Quinn.

"That's a great idea! Okay, that'll work!" Fuentes smiled as they took a turn onto a street.

|·|·|·|

"Come on, get up you drunk!" Ricky said as he dragged Andy out of the car in the pouring rain. He had had enough of this and it was time to get down to business.

Ricky shut the door, and dragged Andy into the house. He was ready to do this. But first he had to chain Andy up. He couldn't have a drunk Andy running around in wet clothes, that would make his house a mess.

He threw Andy down the basement stairs, causing Andy to groan in pain once he hit the bottom of the stairs. This was going to be so much fun, and it was only going to get better!

But as Ricky was about to step on the first basement step, he heard a knock on the door.

"Oh fuck!"


	5. FIVE

Andy was sobering up as fast he could, because no normal person throws him down the fucking basement steps and he needed his brain to work completely to help him handle whatever bull was going down.

Of course he wasn't one hundred percent fine, his vision blurred a tad bit and he felt slightly like he was swimming through syrup or something, but he certainly wasn't in the mood for fucking Ricky anymore. Being thrown hurt. And he was soaking wet. And fuck.

He rubbed his eyes and made it to his feet, somewhat stumbling once he was standing up. He looked around for the light switch, knowing he wasn't far enough in his right mind to walk up concrete steps in the pitch black. He ran his hand across the wall for what felt like ages, running the other hand through his hair — dripping wet and recently cut to his shoulders — as he wondered how the night was going to end. It was already going so well.

Finally, he found the light switch, flicked it on, and oh. His heart kind of stopped for a moment.

He refused to believe there were bodies — were those bodies, shit — and his eyes almost didn't catch the poor soul chained up to a table. Was Ricky fucking insane? He had to be insane. He didn't want to think this was happening, but it was and he had to suck it up, because something was telling him that pissing himself in fear and walking around in denial was not going to save him.

Andy looked to the boy chained up and made his way over, biting his lip harder with each step. His fists tightened and he knelt down, his sluggish mind wondering if the boy was some sort of animal. That would justify him being tied to a table, right? Wouldn't it?

The boy's head was lowered, eyes closed. His skin was splattered with blood and there was another boy with a mess of chocolate curls lying face down beside him. Andy cringed; were they dead? The one in chains seemed to be breathing, though. His chest rose and fell weakly, but it was moving. That was reassuring or something.

Andy reached out a shaky hand and brushed his fingers against the boy's cheek. The blood on it was dry. He didn't move, didn't wake up, just kept breathing slow and intimidating Andy by sleeping or whatever he was doing. He stood there, crouched down in front of the boy for what felt like far too long.

He looked over at the curly boy next, not feeling so great about his fate. Still, he nudged and nudge until he turns the body over and fuck, he was covered in dried blood and he had so many cuts and his throat had a large gash across it and he yelped, dropped on his ass and scooted back and felt sick immediately. "Fuck, God, no, no, no."

Ricky had to have done this, too.

When the hell did he develop feelings for such a. . .a. . .?

High school was an interesting time, sure, but he had to fall for a murderer? Of course, he knew nothing about this little hobby of Ricky's, nothing about how long he'd been doing it or why, but still. Really? He was far away from high school by this time, bordering on twenty, and dammit, he was hooked on a boy from back then. Rest assured that feeling was on its way to fading away.

The dead boy, he looked so young, and Andy could only imagine the horror he had went through, the pain he suffered and the ear-splitting screams he had probably produced. Poor kid.

The one in chains, he began to stir a bit, eyelids lifting slow to reveal hazy blue eyes. Andy held his breath as those eyes began to focus on him, his heart going wild as the boy's head lolled forward a bit. The moment he truly came to. . .

Then the boy snapped back, his eyes wide, and he looked as though he was going to scream or cry. Andy moved back as well, held his hands up to show he meant no harm.

"I'm not gonna hurt you!" he exclaimed, his head pounding with the oncoming hangover.

The boy looked him up and down, his face a mixture of fear and suspicion. He muttered, "Who're you?" and his voice was hoarse and sad. Pity flooded through Andy's veins instantly; what had this boy been through? He looked as though he had pushed to the edge, and no one had bothered to pull him back.

"I'm Andy," he responded, watching the boy for any reaction. "Who're you?"

The boy mulled over what to say — either that or whether or not he should even trust Andy — while shifting lightly in his chains. Andy stared at the bruises on his cheek, blending into the streams of dried blood, as he awaited an answer.

"M'name's Louis."

He had an accent, Andy noted, a British one, and Andy could only wonder what the fuck his impression of this country was at that point. Louis looked down at the dead one and swallowed thickly, blinking fast but showing no tears. He said, "This is Harry. He's my boyfriend."

'But. He's dead.'

Andy nearly said it, too. What a jackass. At least he caught himself.

"Oh. Um."

"He was killed, you see?" Louis continued, eyes locked on his deceased lover. Andy watched with a strong sense of sorrow building in his chest. Poor thing. "I thought I was gonna save him, but." Then Louis' head snapped up, his face one of surprise or shock or something. Andy couldn't really tell. "Can you get me out of here? The-the chains, can you untie them? We can get out together, yeah? Help me. Please, please."

Andy went to the chains without hesitation.

 

Officers.

Fuck to the highest degree, that was the point Ricky was at.

He could see them through the peephole, and he couldn't pretend he wasn't home, the light was on. Shit. Shit fuck shit.

He took a breath or two to compose himself, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. He glanced at the basement door — closed, good — and wondered if Andy was having fun before opening the front door, putting on his most convincing "innocent" mask.

"Hello, may I help you?" he asked, voice timid while his blood boiled within. Nosy, nosy, always butting into others' business. That was what brought the first two officers to their end, not to mention little Harry and it's what got Louis into his position, as well. Why did no one learn? What was wrong with the world?

The officers glanced at each other — oh, cute, they thought Ricky didn't know them in casual wear and it was so sad that they didn't know that Ricky did his research. He's seen these two around. Hell, he knew all the fucking officers in the city. He was never going to get caught off-guard. He was too ahead of the game to fall behind.

"Hi!" the slightly taller of the two chirped, putting forth a smile. "Uh, our car broke down and our phones are dead and we're pretty much screwed. Can we step in and use your phone, please?"

"Sure. Come in," and he stepped back, allowed them to enter his home. They were wet with rain but he couldn't really care less because all he needed was them down or them out. "So, car's down, you said?"

"Yeah," murmured the shorter, pushing softly against his partner. He walked into Ricky's house with his gaze alive, eyes scanning the living room with an obvious suspicion. His partner was a tad more conspicuous, walking in with his smile intact.

"Would you like a drink?" Ricky asked in false hospitality.

'Just take the drink. Make this shit easy.'

The two exchanged quick, but not unnoticeable glances with each other before one of them said, "Oh, no thank you."

"Okay. May I ask your names, then?"

Again with the exchanged looks. Ricky rolled his eyes while theirs weren't on him, walking towards the kitchen door to give them a sense of security.

"I'm Quinn," said the taller. Quinn pointed to his partner adding, "That's Vincent." Ricky smirked when his head turned and said, "The phone's there," with a wave of his hand toward the house phone, which they had yet to know had been disconnected for nearly three years. What they don't know, right?

Quinn made his way to the phone, Vincent looking around still. He hadn't said much, taking it all in. He was looking for evidence, he was against Ricky and so was Quinn, his little friend, his little partner in crime. Ricky could strangle him now.

But there was no fun in that.

Vincent turned his back on Ricky to look up the staircase, and that was when Ricky took his chance and attacked. He walked not slow, but not suspiciously fast, while Quinn pretended to play with the phone, swiping the vase on the coffee table. Without a moment of hesitation, he swung it down on Vincent's head, causing his knees to buckle, legs to give out, and his head to smack a stair. He was out cold.

Quinn dropped the phone, tearing the gun off of his waistband and aiming it at Ricky immediately.

"Don't move," he snarled, black hair falling in his suddenly vicious eyes.

Quinn looked like a kid playing Cops and Robbers in that oversized t-shirt and those skintight jeans. He was a baby. Ricky snorted, waving off that joke of a cop and reaching down to retrieve a shard of glass. Quinn's gun followed his motions, his finger on the trigger.

"Shoot me."

Quinn fired instantly, but Ricky, expecting it, jumped out of the way quick enough and it resulted in only his calf getting grazed. He fell, however, playing it up so Quinn would let down his guard. Of course he did, he fell for it immediately, and dropped the phone to tend to Vincent. That was the problem, Ricky saw, with near all of his victims. They gave far too much of a shit about other people.

Sad things.

With Quinn's back turned, the same mistake Vincent had made, Ricky was able to get back up and slip behind him. He still held the shard of glass tight in his hand, jabbed it into Quinn's side and slammed him against the wall while he was caught off-guard. Quinn, having been some sort of trained, fought back, but with the glass painting him and slowing him down, he was easy to take down. Head against the wall, head against the wall, some kicks and scratches and a few good punches on Quinn's part, head against the wall, done.

Satisfied, Ricky took Quinn's gun (and Victor's concealed one), dragged them to the basement stairs, kicked them down, wondered why Andy wasn't causing much hassle (he was probably drunk out of his mind, that pretty fuck), and made his way down himself.

Then he saw that pretty fuck trying to free his traumatized toy and he could've killed him then, but no. No, no, no.

No fun.

 

Andy knew he was in deep shit the moment he heard something tumble down the steps.

Two new bodies, shit, and then there were footsteps and.

Ricky.

Ricky who did not look very happy.

Louis didn't bother looking Ricky's way, just kept staring at the floor or Andy or at his dead boyfriend - really anywhere but Ricky's direction. Andy's hands slid from the chains tying the boy up — he felt he was halfway there, could've freed him if he had a little more time — and he stared at Ricky in fear and dammit, what a night this was turning out to be.

"Get away from him," Ricky snapped, and Andy, with a sad look to Louis, obeyed. He murmured an apology and scooched back, making a path for Ricky. And to think he thought that boy was so damned hot in high school, to think he had a crush. Wild.

"Did you ask him to help you escape?" He was gripping Louis' messy hair, practically snarling at him. Andy couldn't look, but he did. "Did you fucking ask him? You're not happy with the fact I let you live, huh?"

And he heard Louis mumble, "You should've killed me," and he knew something was going down.

"You," Ricky turned on Andy, "you fucking sit there. Alright? One wrong move and I'm putting a bullet through your head."

Andy didn't doubt him in the slightest, so he zipped his lips and closed his eyes, not at all wanting to know what sick act Ricky was about to perform.

The disaster of a young man turned back to his experiment and gripped his face tight, nails digging into bruised cheeks. "Look," he said, "you run your mouth a fucking lot. That's what killed your boyfriend, right?" Met with silence, he sneered and continued. "You're gonna put your mouth to good use, got it?" Still no response. Louis just looked up with dead eyes and wished he could get out of here. He would take Harry and take the blue-eyed boy — Andy, was it? — and run. Harry would be able to be out to rest respectfully, peacefully, and he could move away, far, far away, but somehow come to visit Harry every hour and-and maybe he could help put those other people to rest, too, and escape with Andy, who was brand new and still alive but—

Ricky was unbuckling his pants and murmured something about a headcase being good at blowjobs.

He was calling someone else a nutcase?

How fucking.

He was presenting Louis with his dick, wow, and he said, in such a sickly sweet tone, "You wanna be free, don't you?" Louis was far past gone, didn't know what to do, didn't know what to believe. His mind was warped, twisted; would he really be set free? Would sucking off that shithead actually grant him freedom?

"Would Harry be free, too?"

His voice cracked with too much hope.

"Not sure what you'd do with a dead body, not sure I want to know, but yeah. Whatever. Take him. If you're free, he's free."

Louis nodded, swallowed, screwed his eyes shut. He wondered if Andy was watching, maybe trying to slip away, but with that gun wrapped in Ricky's hand, aimed at his head, Louis assumed he probably wasn't.

"Alright."

Ricky finally, finally released his grip on Louis' matted hair and glared down at the boy he had broken as he leaned forward, taking in as much as he could into his mouth. Tears were already coming to the surface; Louis felt like he was cheating. Harry would be disgusted with him when he saw him again, he would. How could he not be.

But this was the only way.

He kept his eyes closed, pretended it was Harry, ran his tongue down the underside and shaking all the while. Ricky was completely silent, which was odd in its own right, but Ricky was odd, period. He was deranged and staying quiet while having his dick sucked was certainly not the strangest thing he had done in his life.

Seriously.

Louis bobbed his head lightly, careful not to choke himself as he took in just a little bit more. He leaned in as much as possible, still restrained and held to the table, but found slight relief in sitting back. The less of Ricky he held between his lips, the better. He tounged the tip, a few tears escaping his eyes, no longer pretending it was Harry because his hair was being yanked again and it hurt and Harry wouldn't hurt him like that.

Now Ricky made slight sounds of pleasure or whatever that sick fuck was feeling, and it sickened Louis deeply, but what could he do? He just had to keep it up. With more tears came a whimper, a whine, a vibration that hit Ricky in the core. That was what he needed. Fuck.

He tugged Louis' hair up, as if he was preparing to tear it off of his scalp. He moaned a bit more, pushing himself forward and his toy back. The whines increased, spreading warmth and that fucking vibration throughout his entire body.

"Keep it up, kid, don't you just wanna be free?"

Louis nodded, shifting the heat around and god it was amazing.

He would undo the chains so the boy could use his hands to further the pleasure, but it wasn't worth the risk of something else happening. So he kept Louis chained and moved his hips a bit, not wanting to choke the kid because he needed this to end right.

Louis was praying for the end to come or Ricky to burst into flames or something, anything, but he went to the underside again, a stripe up, before returning to the tip but there was no warning and his tongue met the head and Ricky came right in Louis' mouth and he had no fucking choice but to swallow because clearly the sick fuck wasn't moving until he did.

It took ages to do so due to hesitation and the fear of what Harry would think and the pure disgust but he did it, he finally did it. He sobbed, "I'm done now. Let us go," and Ricky sneered again, no.

"You should've made me promise."

"What? N-No, that's not-that's not. . .no. No."

And Louis was back in his sad little traumatized trance.

Andy kept his eyes on the ground in complete horror. What the hell was happening? How—how could that have happened?

How could someone be so sick?


	6. SIX

Andy was sick to his stomach, and it was all because of what Ricky just did to the poor British boy named Louis.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Andy said out loud before leaning over and throwing up on the basement floor. This caused the fucking psycho to turn around in confusion.

"What on - you just made a fucking mess on the goddamn floor!" Ricky yelled as he pointed the gun at Andy's forehead. He was ready to pull the trigger, but he couldn't do that to his high school crush, no way!

"Please... I need to use the bathroom... Can I please use it?" Andy begged, and that pissed off Ricky even more than before. He hated when they begged, it was just plain annoying and sickening.

"No, either you throw up on the ground, or you swallow. Because I have plans for you tonight!" Ricky smiled a wicked smile before turning back to the British boy.

He was crying, but Ricky couldn't understand why though, he let him live... and even let him get a taste of him! What more could he possibly give to the kid?

"Stop fucking crying, cry baby!" Ricky shouted as he pointed the gun at Louis' head. He couldn't shoot the kid - he was his experiment after all - but he did have a good idea in mind.

He could hear one of the officers stir, and that instantly made Ricky jump into a 'freak out' mode. He didn't want them up yet, especially when he just got an excellent idea.

"No, no, no!" Ricky paced back and forth. Maybe he out done himself this time? Taking in a big breath of air; he suddenly got a whiff of decomposing bodies. It smelled awful, and he wanted to get some air freshener. Unfortunately, he didn't have any in the house; so he made a mental note to get some.

"Please, please don't hurt me!" the short cop screamed, coming to the realization that he was probably going to die.

"Shut the fuck up!" Ricky shouted as he took off his belt. If this cop wouldn't shut up, Ricky was going to make him shut up.

"Help! Someone help!" he shouted, even though Ricky had just threatened him if he didn't shut up.

"Okay, you know what? I'm done with your shit!" Ricky said as he grabbed the cop, and dragged him into a back room. This was going to be the first time he'd ever do this to someone. But honestly, Ricky couldn't wait to do it. He had watched enough of those doctor shows to know how to stitch someone up.

"Please, no!" Louis heard the shorter cop scream as he begun the procedure to stitch his mouth shut. It literally made both Andy and Louis sick. By the time, he got halfway done, Kellin was passed out from the pain. This was what Ricky wanted, maybe he should've been a doctor?

Ha fucking ha to that.

Victor began to stir on the ground, and as soon as he was fully awake, Ricky was holding Quinn over his shoulder and when he felt Quinn was far way from Victor, he threw him to the ground like he was nothing.

"Next person who won't shut the fuck up gets their mouth stitched together. Understood?" Ricky yelled out as he struggled to pick up the lifeless body of Harry. Bending him over the same table that Louis was tied to, Ricky thought of something that he could do to make Louis wet his pants. Make him kiss his baby.

"So, Louis?" Ricky said like he was friends with Louis or something. There was no way in hell he'd ever be friends with Ricky, ever.

"W-What? Please don't hurt Harry! He doesn't deserve anything more! Please!" Louis begged, even though he knew Ricky hates begging.

"Oh, I'm not going to do anything to Harry... but you are!" Louis instantly froze on the cold metal table. The chains were chafing his wrists, and it was starting to hurt.

"I want you to kiss him." Ricky ordered as he pulled Harry's body closer to Louis' face.

"No... please, no!" Louis pleaded as tears fell from his pretty eyes. Ricky took a mental note that Louis had really pretty eyes.

"Yes, or... or I'm going to fuck you!" Ricky threatened, and Louis gulped. He was going to hate himself in the morning for this - especially after he has to touch his lips against Harry's.

"What if I let you fuck me?" Louis asked, and Ricky smiled wickedly at Louis.

"Actually, I'm not going to fuck a queer like you. Instead, I'm going to fuck Andy, if you don't kiss Harry," Ricky said, and instantly Andy's eyes widened like they were about to fall out. He didn't want to be fucked by some psycho, but he didn't want to see the British boy kiss his dead boyfriend. This wasn't a win-win situation.

"Please... please... don't make me choose!" Louis begged and that's when he was hit in the eye with Ricky's fist as he heard Harry's lifeless body hit the ground.

"Okay, well I'll choose for you... and I'm going to choose... I'm gonna fuck Andy. Andy, get your ass over here!" Ricky demanded, and Andy hesitated, but got up. He wasn't about to get murdered over not listening to the fucking psycho.

"Please... I-I never had sex before... please!" Andy pleaded, but all Ricky did was pull his tight skinny jeans down to his ankles.

"Too fucking bad, I guess I'll be the one to take your virginity! And I'm glad to do that," Ricky admitted as he pulled Andy's sweatpants down to his ankles, along with his boxer briefs.

Ricky reached for the knife in his pocket, and flicked it open. He was going to make sure Andy wouldn't run away, and he knew a knife would do the trick.

"Fuck you!" Someone screamed as they tackled Ricky to the ground, causing him to drop the knife. While the guy was tackling Ricky to the ground, Andy quickly pulled his pants up. He couldn't believe he was about to be raped by this psycho!

He turned around to see who was the one fighting Ricky, and it was the other cop. He quickly pinned Ricky to the ground, throwing fists at his face in attempt to knock him out. He wanted to finish this once and for all, but it wasn't going as easy as he wanted.

"Grab the knife!" the cop yelled, but Andy didn't listen. He ran up the stairs to escape and Louis couldn't believe this was happening. Andy had bruises all over his chest and face; people were going to notice him on the street.

Victor was pissed, but then Ricky got the advantage, and picked up the knife. Stabbing Victor right in the head, killing him instantly. Ricky was beyond pissed as he got up.

"That little bitch! I'm going to kill him!" Ricky said to himself as he ran up the stairs. Louis looked around, fearing what was in store for him and the only cop alive if he couldn't find Andy.

How could Andy not help the cop out? Louis asked himself as he pulled on the chains. He was freaking out on the inside as he heard yelling coming from upstairs.

"Oh god, Andy didn't get away," Louis said out loud as he saw the surviving cop crawling over to him. He had finally woke up from passing out from the pain.

"Please hurry!" Louis whispered as the cop got one of his arms free. While Quinn United his legs, Louis undid his other arm.

This was the moment of truth. Andy was actually distracting Ricky so Quinn could free Louis!

"Let's go!" Louis said as he jumped up, pulling the knife out of the officers head.

"You little fucking bitch! You're making a fucking mess of my house!" Ricky screamed as he threw a book at Andy's head. He missed, only because Andy ducked down when he threw it.

Ricky's back was facing the basement, and when the door opened, Ricky turned around.

"Shit."


	7. SEVEN

There were a few things Ricky took into account staring at Louis and the cop.

Louis was up. The cop was up. The cop was mute and his face was bleeding, but best believe he could fight for a moment. He was outnumbered. And he was shit out of luck.

He turned his back to them for just a moment to catch sight of Andy, who was looking desperately for something to use as a weapon. "The most you're gonna find is a broken umbrella," he snaps, though he really had no basis for his annoyance. It wasn't exactly like he had a plan of sorts when he started killing, was it?

He just killed to keep from being bored, and if he was going to be honest, it had gotten a little repetitive. Of course, it wasn't exactly like he could stop now. He had people on his ass now. Now was not the time to consider a new hobby.

The cop came for him first, but considering he just got his fucking lips sewn shut, he was a bit weaker than he once was, making for an easy pin to the floor. He got a few good punches in, sure, might've even broken Ricky's nose with one of them, the fucker. But, ultimately, Ricky knocked him to the ground and held him there with his foot, glaring at a beaten and broken Louis next, daring the Brit to try something.

There was a yell from Andy, drawing Ricky's attention. He was charging, arm pulled back and blue eyes narrowed and he spat, "You sick fuck!" and before Ricky could count to five there was a fist in his face, a stupid fucking Batman ring catching his cheek. He heard Louis walk away from them, leave the cop and Andy and Ricky all on their own so he could do whatever it is he had to do.

Good. Ricky knew he wasn't leaving. His stupid amount of care for other people was too strong to let him run. And if he escaped, so fucking what? Ricky was good at lying. But he wouldn't. His heart wouldn't let him. And he was leaving his precious boyfriend behind.

Ricky made quick work of Andy, throwing his fist at Andy's throat and elbowing him in the ribs. With that one on his side and his hands at his neck, he turned to the cop with the mouth sewn shut. Quinn was trying to stand, but achieved absolutely nothing but a moan when Ricky kicked him in the stomach. He dropped back to the floor, weak and dizzy and struggling for the strength to succeed. Ricky let him do whatever.

He had to pull Louis back under his control. Having one of his victims roaming freely did not sit well with him. He needed them all under his thumb where they belonged, goddammit. Struggling was fine. Running was not.

He didn't hear the steps to head up, so Louis was still down there. There was no escape to the basement, for Ricky would've heard the thud of him running down metal stairs. Louis was on that level. The only places were the dining room and kitchen.

He left Andy and Quinn to their own devices and sought out Louis, kind've wishing he brought those guns he stole from the officers back up with him. Oh, well. Louis was borderline delirious and pretty fucking weak. He wasn't going to prove much of a challenge.

The dining room was empty.

Kitchen.

Ricky started to taunt him, started to say, "Harry couldn't escape, you know. How could you?" His victims were almost as boring as the rest now. He could hear Andy coughing in the living room. Pathetic.

The young Brit rounded the kitchen table with two knives: one bloody and one pristine. Ricky figured the soiled blade came from the cop he stabbed in the basement; somehow Louis had the balls to wrench it out of the man's skull. Good on him.

"You killed Harry," he murmured, his eyes narrowed. He almost looked threatening, covered in dried blood with bruised wrists and a bruised face and two knives. And yet, even though Ricky felt his downfall was the inescapable end result, all he could do was laugh.

"Yeah. I know."

All these people did was state the obvious.

He felt another presence behind him and one quick glance over his shoulder told him it was Andy. Oh, joy. He snarled, "Now just what do you want? I didn't kill anyone you liked," all while keeping his eyes on the blade-wielding toy before him.

"I can't believe I ever liked you in high school."

Ricky rolled his eyes, getting into a fighting stance. "Was that supposed to make my heart melt?" He heard Andy snarl behind him but big fucking deal, he could do that, too. He didn't, though. No reason to.

Louis threw the bloody blade with what originally appeared to be poor aim and Ricky smirked in the face of it until it sliced his leg. He spit, "You fucking brat," glaring at Louis while attempting to apply pressure to the wound. Andy grabbed him from behind, held him straight up and whispered in his ear, "Wait 'till you fucking get it."

"Yeah?" He let out a sharp bark of a laugh and added, "Kill me and you'll be just like me."

"I don't think so," he murmured. "You killed for the fun of it, didn't you?"

"I was bored."

Ricky began to try and worm his way out of Andy's grip, even with his leg burning like hellfire and dripping blood. The house was a mess by then, and it really wasn't very nice. He didn't much appreciate it. Not to mention his victims were slipping out of his control. That wasn't quite nice, either.

"You're fucking twisted," Andy grunted, struggling to keep his hold on the shorter of the two. Ricky was clever to some degree; he didn't think just trying to push against Andy's arms was going to do anything, did he? "Fucking hold still."

Louis stood in place, the new knife just going to waste in his hand. No longer did he look the slightest bit threatening, only upset. Broken. He didn't have the strength to ram the blade into Ricky, didn't even have the strength to spit at him. He peered over the two fighting to keep his eye on the cop, who appeared to stop moving all together. Ricky didn't really care much about him. He was boring, anyway.

Apparently, Andy overestimated his own strength, because Ricky broke free relatively quick. He was the only one not scarred for life, after all, it probably was a fucking breeze for him. He pushed Andy away, right into the counter, shoving one nuisance out of his path before focusing on the next. Louis stood there still, aiming the knife just barely. Ricky grinned him, taking a cautious step towards him.

"I can reunite you with your boy, y'know?" he said, talking soft, lulling the damaged boy into a sense of security. "You wanna be with Harry, right? Your heart?"

"You killed him," was Louis's shaky response, actual backing away.

"I know." He held his hands out, feigning surrender so Louis could just drop the goddamn knife. That thing was new, and all he was doing was holding it with dirty hands and wasting time. Christ. "I'm sorry. But it's not really my fault, is it? Why didn't you stop him from coming here? I wouldn't have killed him if he never came here."

Louis's face fell as a crushing sadness hit him, sat on his shoulders and nearly broke his spine. Andy tried to speak up, said, "He's just fucking with you," but got a good knock of the head into the side of the counter got him quiet. Intervening little asshole.

"And we can't forget how far you pushed me, can we?" he murmured, just loud enough for Louis's ears. "I told you what was gonna happen. And you tried to fight me on it. And Harry died." He paused, just long enough to take in Louis's absolutely shattered expression. It was amazing. "I killed him. You said I wouldn't. Said he wouldn't die. And he did. He fucking kicked the bucket. 'Cause of me. 'Cause of you. He—"

There was a scream, maybe some words mixed into it, but they were discernible. Louis had been pushed over the edge, knocked into action. He cried out, tears tumbling down his cheeks, and shoved the knife as deep as he could into Ricky's shoulder. Right between his arm and his neck sat the handle of that blade. "I'd never hurt Harry," he spat as he pushed the blade impossibly deeper, his breath coming in short gasps. "Fuck." With that one, he ripped the blade out. "You!" And with that one, he stabbed it back in.

"Holy fuck," Andy mumbled, dizzy and aching but coming back. He kicked his leg out, striking Ricky in the ankle. Watching the psychotic young man hit the ground filled him with something dangerously close to a sense of power. He thought about staying away from that; wasn't that what Ricky was looking for? Power? Okay. He got to his feet, grabbed Louis by the wrist. The kid was paralyzed again, the adrenaline pouring out of him. "C'mon," he said as Ricky reached for them. He kicked Ricky's hand away, kicked his face, trying to keep him down as long as possible as he yanked Louis out of the kitchen.

They ran back into the living room, finding the cop unconscious. Great. Andy attributed it to the blood loss and hefty emotional trauma. That was probably enough to knock anyone out for a bit. He immediately demanded Louis grab the cop so they could "get the fuck out," and Louis, with tears in his eyes and an expressionless face, did as he was told. They hefted up the cop, working even faster when they heard Ricky yell a few choice words and a threat along the lines of making sure they stay.

Louis had one of the cop's arms slung around his shoulders, Andy with the other. They dragged the man that was really nothing more than dead weight at the moment and all but tumbled through the front door, panting and looking up and down the road and both wondering the same thing: 'What now?'

"Mrs. Hood," Louis suddenly muttered, his voice hoarse and breaking. "Across the street. Go." And he nodded forward, blinking back tears because with them falling, he couldn't see. Andy complied, not knowing a damned thing about a "Mrs. Hood" but if it got them away from Ricky and his…whatever was wrong in his head, then fine by him. They pulled the officer along and Louis beat on the door of the mysterious Mrs. Hood, but unable to scream for her to please come help. He just prayed the banging would be enough.

After what felt like years of the two of them glancing back across the street to see if Ricky had pathetically hobbled his way out – thankfully, the answer remained no –, they were met with the soft and tired face of the one and only Mrs. Hood. Her eyes widened in horror at the disaster that stood on her porch, questions tearing through her head, but all she could manage was a short and small, "What happened?" It was directed towards Louis because she didn't know Andy. Andy took no offense.

"We need help," Louis responded quickly, panicked, his body trembling. "Please."

She moved back, allowed them in. Across the street, she could see Ricky, the son of the dysfunctional Olsons, keeping himself steady at the front door by leaning against it. He smirked at her, blood running down his neck, chest and arm, and though he only stared at her for seconds, the image was burned into the back of her eyelids forever. She always knew something was a bit off with him, but. The blood. The beaten boys before her.

Andy slammed the door closed, snarled at Louis to call for help once they eased the stitched-up cop onto the couch.

"That guy's a fucking nut," he mumbled, glancing at Mrs. Hood for a moment before slapping the cop's face lightly. "C'mon, dude."

She looked at them, bit her lip as Louis desperately pleads on the phone for help. She walked to the front closet, reached for the ugly winter coat no one wears, just in case, just in case, and—

There was a bang.

There was another. Someone was at the front door. She heard a sharp, "Oh, Mrs. Hood! Give me my boys back," punctuated with another fist against the wood. "I'll give you yours."

She froze up, looked toward the door as her face fell into something akin to desperation. Andy stopped playing with the cop — finally, he was coming to — and looked to Louis, who was no longer on the phone. She held her breath, looked like she was considering opening the door and Andy could truly smack her but he didn't get the chance because Louis snapped, "No!"

He was glaring at her, his fists tight. "Don't open that door." Then he softened considerably, his face back to the sad, sorry one he crawled to her door with. "He can't give you anything, Mrs. Hood. Calum's dead."

Andy grimaced. That woman's son was dead, too, at the hands of an old high school crush. How many people did Ricky murder?

"I'm sorry-he-I-that's why Harry and I were here, we were looking for Cal and Ricky, he threw us in the basement and-and we saw him and…" he paused, his voice cracking because he just couldn't help but choke. Mrs. Hood stared at him, slowly understanding. Her son was killed by the boy across the street. He probably killed those cops, too. She had never seen Louis without Harry until tonight and now she knows why. And he probably almost killed these lads before her.

Louis dropped to the floor, the gravity of the situation too much for his tired body. Andy looked to him with sympathy before looking at the cop, who was fading away again. Was he going to die, too?

"Please don't open that door," he mumbled, his voice lower than ever. "He's a damned psycho."

"I know," was Mrs. Hood's response, back at the closet. She snatched something out of that old, ugly coat, heading to the front door. Andy opened his mouth to stop her, but she whipped around, "He killed my fucking son," and Andy shut up immediately. Never mess with a mother scorned.

She practically ripped the door off its hinges to reveal a darkly grinning Ricky, a rip in the skin near his shoulder. He opened his mouth as he went for her throat, nails scratching at her skin, but never got the chance to speak, two bullets lodged neatly in his chest. Mrs. Hood held her smoking gun shakily, her body trembling. He tore small scratches in her neck as he dropped to the ground, dead and silent.

"Self defense," she whispered. "He attacked me. Self defense."

"It ain't me you gotta convince," was Andy's response, cautiously placing his hand on her shoulder. "It was you or him. I think you did the right thing, if it matters. I'd shoot the asshole, too, throwing me down some steps."

All Mrs. Hood could say was, "Fuck."

That summed it up pretty well. Andy looked around the room once again, soaking it all in. The cop lie still on the couch, eyes closed again. Blood no longer dropped from his wound. Maybe he was drained. Louis was on the floor, knees at his chest, his face splattered with blood, staring shell-shocked at the scene before him. His head was broken. It was going to take a hell of a lot to heal him, if he was to ever heal at all. He was murmuring something. If Andy listened close, he could make it out.

"Harry. I want Harry. I want Harry."

Andy wondered if he fully understood that his boyfriend was dead.

Mrs. Hood, her name was, she shook tremendously, dropping her gun to wail into her hands. Her son was dead. How old was he? Was he a good kid? That didn't matter. That was her son. And she would never get him back.

And finally, Ricky, splayed out on Mrs. Hood's porch, a river of red pouring from his corpse. Andy wished he had suffered more, went through more pain than a couple of quick bullets. He deserved so much more.

"Fuck," summed it up perfectly.


	8. EIGHT

"Is-is he dead?" Andy asked, trying to not freak out. Mrs. Hood started to hyperventilate as sge check on the killer. Checking his pulse, she looked back at Andy, and nodded. "He's dead, now. The phone is in the kitchen, can you please call nine-one-one?" Mrs. Hood asked, and Andy nodded before quickly walking into the kitchen

Dialing the police, they answered on the first ring.

"Hello, this nine-one-one, do you need an an ambulance, police, or firefighters?" the operator asked, and Andy started to freak out.

"Police and ambulances. So many, so many dead bodies. Three cops are dead, one has a-a-a stiched up mouth. Please help!" Andy said a mile a minute, and the lady was trying her best to understand the situation.

"Okay, sir. Please calm down, and tell me slower than the first time." she instructed.

"This guy kidnapped me, and held me and other people hostages in a basement with a bunch of dead bodies. In which three of the bodies are officers that were reported missing. Please, he's dead but we're all so scared. Please help." Andy said in a less freaking out voice.

"Okay, we're sending police and a couple ambulances. How many people are alive that were in the basement?" she asked calmly, and Andy calmed down some more.

"There's me, an officer -- who by the way is unable to talk because his mouth is sewn shut. Louis who might need psychological help after he was covered in his now dead boyfriend's blood, and me." Andy said, and as soon as he looked at the entrance of the door, Ricky was gone.

"Shit." Andy said, and everyone in the living room looked at him with confused eyes.

"What?" Mrs. Hood asked, and Andy started to freak out again.

"He's-- he's gone!" Andy yelled as he heard sirens coming down the street.

"Who's gone?" the lady on the other end of the line asked, and Andy gulped.

"The damned psycho, Ricky! He's gone, we checked his pulse but he's gone!" Andy started freaking out, and that's when he heard a laugh.

"Nah, you think you can get rid of me, that easily? Think again, bitch!" Ricky screamed as he ran towards Andy with a knife.

All of a sudden a handsome police officer ran in, and shot Ricky in the back of the head. "Officer Radke, reporting for duty." he said with a smirk when a bunch of ambulances arrived, along with a lot of reporters.

"I am here with the survivors who are capable of speaking. There has been many upsetting deaths these past few days, including three officers, two teenage boys, and two parents. Now, I'm going to try to talk to a survivor of this killing and torturing spree," she paused as she walked up to Louis. "now, what is your name?"

"I want to be with Harry, I want to be with Harry." Louis repeated himself, and that's when two cops came to his rescue.

"He's clearly been through enough, lay off the questions. Plus, who the hell let you in?" the tallest officer asked the reporter, and she just walked away with her eyes rolling.

"Three officers, two parents, and two teenage boys will never be forgotten. We are planning to send out cards later on for the parents and families of the victims. This psycho is now dead, and the killings are not going to happen again. This has been a message brought to you by: Fox News Station."


End file.
